


Erosion

by romanticalgirl



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Challenge Response, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 21:05:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4720412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My challenge to fanfiction authors who write males would be to not use the words cock, member, or erection. What do you think the result would be?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Erosion

Ian doesn’t really know what hits him, except he knows it’s Mickey. Full force and head on as he pins Ian to the wall of the building. Ian feels the hardness of the concrete against the back of his skull and the scrape of the uneven surface rasp against his skin and hair. 

“Mick...”

“Shut the fuck up, Gallagher.” Mickey kisses him hard, deep. He fucks Ian’s mouth with his tongue like he’s desperate for the taste of him, like he’s looking for something inside Ian. Like Ian holds some secret or some safety that Mickey needs to survive.

Ian isn’t used to Mickey kissing him. It isn’t the way it works. Ian instigated all the kisses since that first one – usually tentative because sometimes he can’t believe that Mickey ever kissed him. But even then, it hadn’t ever been like this, never made out in a way that involved Mickey assaulting Ian’s mouth and tongue and lips. It’s never been Mickey taking Ian over.

Mickey pins Ian’s hands to the wall and moves his mouth down to Ian’s jaw, his throat. Ian’s sweaty shirt clings to his skin, the frayed collar gives way to Mickey’s teeth. He leaves marks in his wake, and Ian groans. Mickey marking him is like Mickey saying Ian belongs to him. That he belongs to Ian. His teeth rake down Ian’s chest, scraping against Ian’s tight nipple. He licks at Ian’s abs through sweaty fabric. Ian’s head drops back against the wall again and a bright shaft of pain mixes with the heat pooling low as Mickey moves down to his knees. 

Ian doesn’t speak, but his lips part so the heavy breaths of need and want and arousal can slip out, rain down on Mickey’s head as he easily undoes Ian’s jeans. Ian watches Mickey’s fingers, deft and quick, and he wants to suck them, take them in his mouth and make Mickey feel like he’s on fire, like Ian does.

Mickey eases Ian out of his boxers and takes him in his mouth, sucking him deep. Ian can’t help the moan that falls from his lips, the shaking inhale when Mickey moans too. Mickey’s mouth moves around Ian as he sucks, tight and hot and wet. Ian watches through his lashes, unable to look away. One of his hands threads into Mickey’s hair and Mickey looks up at him, the blue of his eyes just a rim around his blown pupils. 

Ian wishes he were more like Mickey and didn’t need the words. Wishes he could just take the look in Mickey’s eyes, on his face and have it be enough. Instead he wants words he knows Mickey won’t ever give him. But he feels it through Mickey’s mouth on him, in the way his throat constricts around Ian, in the way his hands grab Ian’s hips. He knows it exists by the way Mickey sucks him down, the way it’s hard and tight and desperate. The way they crash together over and over because Ian is a wave breaking against Mickey’s sand, eroding the walls he’s built up. The way Mickey is everything Ian needs and thinks about. The way Mickey’s eyes soften when he looks at Ian. The way Mickey lets Ian in despite everything in their worlds that tell him not to. 

Mickey’s eyes drift closed, lashes fluttering against his cheeks and Ian shakes himself free of his thoughts and focuses on the tug and pull of tongue and flesh, the barest scrape of Mickey’s teeth on his skin. Ian shudders at the feeling and his knees jerk, giving way slightly as he arches off the wall, spilling down Mickey’s throat.

Mickey sucks him until Ian’s shaking and pushing him away. He uses Mickey’s grip on his hips to stay standing, though the sight of Mickey licking his lips is almost enough to bring him to his knees. 

Mickey guides him down, Ian’s legs caught in his bunched up jeans. He puts a knee on either side of one of Mickey’s thighs and leans in to kiss him. He can taste himself on Mickey’s tongue as he sucks it, guiding Mickey onto his back until he’s sprawled on the ground beneath Ian. 

Bracing himself on the concrete floor with one hand, Ian breaks the kiss and pulls back. He reaches down with his free hand and undoes Mickey’s jeans, easing the zipper down. Mickey groans in relief and looks up at Ian. Ian licks his lips. “You want?”

“The fuck do you think?” Mickey snaps, though it sounds more like a groan than irritation. Ian laughs, ignoring Mickey’s glare. “Fucking asking fucking stupid-ass que...” 

Mickey shuts up on a gasp as Ian wraps his hand around Mickey, squeezing lightly on the upstroke, dragging slowly as his hand slides down. Mickey’s breath stutters as Ian keeps stroking him, soft curses under his breath when Ian won’t establish a rhythm. Ian smiles, and he knows it’s smug, but he loves seeing Mickey like this. Loves seeing him defenseless but not weak, loves seeing walls tumble down around them even though – especially because – he knows they’ll be back up before he really has a chance to see what’s behind them. 

These moments with Mickey beneath him, surrendering to him, are addictive and perfect and everything Ian wants. Mickey pliant and fucking peaceful, unguarded. It doesn’t take long for Ian to bring him to the edge. Mickey tenses all over, every muscle taut, as if he’s trying to stave off his orgasm, but when he lets go it’s fucking gorgeous. He falls apart piece by piece, his entire body almost melting against the concrete.

Ian stares down at him and revels in Mickey’s relaxed lines, in the moment where Mickey is free of his life and his past and the pressures and he’s just _Mickey_ , the person Ian knows is underneath all of those hard layers, the person he knows he’s desperately, hopelessly, completely in love with. Ian rests his forehead against Mickey’s and kisses him softly. He wants to prolong the moment, wants to make it last longer than the last time, hoping that at some point it won’t ever end.

“Rough night?” Ian finally asks.

“Fuck off.” Mickey’s voice is raspy and worn, broken down in something other than need. 

Ian doesn’t nod because he doesn’t want to move away. “Could stay here for a while. I’ve got a six-pack. Well, there are four left.”

“Out here drinking your blues away, Gallagher?”

“No.” Ian smiles and he wonders if Mickey can feel it even though he can’t see it. “Waiting for you.”


End file.
